Wednesday, February 5, 2014

An apology to my husband's truck

Let me preface this by saying, I haven't always liked you.

When gas was up around $4 a gallon, it almost bankrupt us to fill your 25 gallon tank.

Your back seat BARELY fits all three car seats and makes for an interesting time trying to find the buckles.

We took you to South Korea with us (what is that about hindsight being 20/20?).  Trying to go anywhere was like a driving a bull in a China shop, walking on eggshells and all those other anxiety-filled cliches.

Because you are the size you are (huge), and don't fit in the garage, our driveway has become parking Tetris. I have to move you every which way every night  so every one gets all their vehicles off the road and in our driveway. Then in the morning, we "dance" again so that everyone can get leave.

Once you were paid off, I wanted to get rid of you.  Sell you.  Buy a new vehicle when Matt gets home.

But I was wrong (are you listening, dear Matthew?).

I had forgotten about winters in Michigan.  Forgotten about driving (or skating) on icy  and snow covered Michigan roads.  So dark blue Chevy Silverado sitting in my driveway, I am writing to tell you how much I have come to love you these past couple weeks during our snowpocalypse.

While your back seat is small, I appreciate its size when it is 8 am and I am warming you up to drive Gabe to school.  It only takes about 7 minutes for the inside of your cab to reach nice and toasty and your windshield to be defrosted.  Despite being in such close quarters, the kids like taking long trips sitting in your back seat as they can all snuggle up to each other.

Your four wheel drive has been heaven in this crazy weather.  While off-roading (aka trying to make it up the driveway), I drop your gear into 4 high and can make it over the extra 8 inches Mr. Snow Plow decided to dump where the road and driveway meet.

Sitting in your seat, so high above the road and other cars, I like the wide berth I am given.  Other (smaller) vehicles give you a little more space in parking lots, a little more room on the road, a little less tailgating.

Most of all, I love the way driving you makes me feel.  And in that way, you remind me of your real owner, my husband. 

You make me feel safe and protected.

I feel like if I got into an accident, that I would be okay.  That the kids would be okay.  That you could take the brunt of the hit without being badly damaged.

When I am driving you, I think of all the times Matt drove you across the country by himself.  Either leaving us for work or coming home after a long time gone.  And when I am alone I feel like a little bit of him is in the seat with me.  And I am comforted.

You are a standard model, with no bells and whistles.  You don't need any.  You serve your purpose and provide transportation safely and efficiently with no distractions.  Like my husband, you do the job you are born for (to serve and protect others) to the best of your ability.

Even though you just turned seven years old, you are still in perfect working order. Besides a few scratches and nicks, you have no cosmetic flaws and have had no parts replaced.  I am reassured knowing I can depend on you.  That you will not fail me.

I realize that this all sounds a little bizarre, attaching human emotions to an inanimate object, drawing comparisons between my husband and a vehicle, but I am also one of those people that feel like if you speak nicely to something, it helps you get your desired results.

Like when I say, "Come on truck, you can do it!  We are almost to the gas station!  I promise I will never run you so low again.  You will have plenty to drink from now on if you just get us to the Speedway!"  

(I have yet to run out.)

I digress.

What I am eluding to is that I am sorry Mr. Silverado (and Matt) for wanting to get rid of you.  The more I dwell on this, I realize what a mistake it would be, how much you mean to us, how you have helped shape our family. I see now how much I depend on you for more than just transportation but also for the daily reminder of my husband.  Not only in the memories of him driving you but...

How you are his way of protecting us when he is not able. 

I love you.  

And I am thankful for you and your small cab but giant frame. I am thankful for your four wheel drive to tackle the icy tundra that our neighborhood has become.  I am thankful you keep our family safe.

I am looking forward to spending much more time driving you in the years to follow (Gabe has already claimed you when he gets his license - sorry about that).  Mostly, I am waiting patiently for your real owner to come back so that he can drive and I can sit back and relax and let you boys handle the road. 

But until then

I will take care of you.  

And make sure you never run out of gas.

Your new (and slightly temporary) owner

PS - Minivan, if you want to be driven at all this winter, you need to figure out how to stop fishtailing, getting stuck on snow and sliding every which way. You are garaged until... at least until the driveway melts.  Which could be April. 

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